


Precipice

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Babies, Cancer, Illness, M/M, Marriage, No Character Death, Parentlock, Sex, Sickness, Smut, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 16:49:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2588978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sex, a baby, proposal, cancer, marriage</p>
            </blockquote>





	Precipice

Idly he sat as he watched his world build itself and then crumble equally down. John did so because he knew there was nothing he could change himself. It was his duty to just live his life.   
It began with Sherlock. Everything began with him, but this time, it involved John a little more than planned.   
That day the case had been closed. For three weeks John had been kidnapped, until the last three days he escaped. Police found him wandering the outskirts of the woods dazed, hungry, and bruised. Sherlock said nothing upon driving him back to London, which scared John. Until they were safely planted back inside the homely flat, John in a robe from the shower, Sherlock pacing the kitchen soundly...   
Did it happen. Sherlock had been working up what to say for awhile now, John knew this in hindsight. But now, as John faced him head on, Sherlock was a deer in the headlights. Instead of speaking, he turned his wild brain into wild action and pinned John against doorway in a touch of lips to lips.   
Of course, John was tired and pliant, and much too tired of the previous weeks to work up any fight or to have to think up any awkward conversation. So, John worked with him, wrapping a hand around Sherlock's back and pulling the button-up from the tuck of his trousers. His tongue encouraging the erotic behavior.   
Before long, Sherlock had taken John. The former army soldier strewn on his back, cradling the detective's torso in his arms, and digging the heels of his feet into the detective's arse. Sherlock was louder than he ever expected. Noises of deep satisfaction were muffled into his neck. And when John managed to warn Sherlock he was almost there, their constant rocking of bodies began clicking the bed against the wall.   
Sherlock's head lifted as he exerted himself, his face sweating and his hairline drenched, and he looked down ever so fondly at his doctor. John realized as he came, that he was having gay sex with his best mate. That they were two men, laying in bed together. He realized this, not feeling ashamed, but much too damned to care. When Sherlock followed him, and the shock of warmth being spilled inside himself sent a chill through his spine, John could relax.   
This was Sherlock and John finally coming together. This was the beginning of John's highlight in life. This was John sitting idly by as things worked for him for once. Only, things could get a little better.   
A full year after that night, and around 6 months of everyone finding out about their consummation, things did get better. If happened after another case.   
"Go! Just go, now!" John held the bundle closer to the crook of his neck, shielding it's value from the cold. Sherlock hesitated, his head tilting as he expressed a dire need of wanting to stay and wanting to go.   
"Sherlock! Jesus Christ! Go chase the man who killed this infant's mother while I call Lestrade!" John used his military voice to persuade the detective into running action, having sprinted off into view when John dug out his phone. The bundle gurgled an unpleased sound.   
The night grew late. It ended with Lestrade standing, hands on hips, in front of Sherlock and John. The baby placed warmly, just inside Sherlock's coat. "Look, boys, I can't put the child in anyone's care until I am sure Scotland Yard hasn't been compromised. If it is, then they could try and take it again."   
John wallowed in that, leaning his head down to rest in his hands.   
Sherlock, on the other hand, was determined. "We'll watch him."   
John and Lestrade both shot a look.   
"You'll take him?" Lestrade clarified with a strong nod from Sherlock   
"Sherlock, you know we don't even have a crib."   
Yet, Sherlock dismissed the doubts. "I took the case, and I will see it to the end. Even if it means a minor set back."   
Three months later John coos down at the little boy as he feeds him. Tuffs of red hair have grown in on the recent bald head. John's eyes cast down over him fondly when his phone rings.   
He digs it out with one hand, clicking a button, "Sherlock, you're on speaker."   
There's a rustling of papers on the other end. "John, I've gotten the documents! Molly and Lestrade are on their way to congratulate and to send them your way. All you have to do is sign them!"   
John huffs, "W-w-wait, are you not coming for this?"   
"I'm sorry, I'm setting up a schedule with a social worker right now. It's going to be three hours or so, but I'll be there shortly! Greg and Molly left, headed your way, over twenty minutes ago and should be there now. I told them to just walk on up." Sherlock was talking fast, John imagined he was late for the appointment.   
"Sure, sure. I think I hear someone down there now. See you tonight, love." John waited until the other line went off, and sighed.   
Seconds later door opened. The smell of the city entered the flat briefly along with a short chill. Molly and Greg were smiling.   
"Hi" They said gently, quietly in unison.   
John grinned, plopping the bottle down with a slurp from the baby. "Hey, guys. He woke up earlier still a little tired, thought I'd get him down, but he's resisting." He stood slowly, cradling him in one arm.   
Molly smiled, shaking John's hand. "I think I could try to get the little man down." She held her arms out, gingerly taking the bundle from John.   
Greg handed John the papers when he was free, "The adoption papers are pretty straight forward. Just a few signatures and references and you'll be a father!"   
John was grinning, he let out a delighted laugh, then set the papers down. "Ha, oh alright. I see you've brought something else." He gestured to the bag in Greg's hand.   
Greg held up a finger and sat on the couch, opening the bag revealing a bottle of wine and crackers. "I have to say, only you could soften Sherlock Holmes. It was his idea since he couldn't be here."   
Molly looked up from the baby, "He told us the exact date, brand, and flavor of wine to get. And we spent a good portion of time looking for the crackers he said you liked. I'm jealous you have such a thoughtful boyfriend."   
Greg looked up, "Hey, I try!" Referencing their new, blossoming relationship that kindled a few weeks ago.   
John took the wine to the kitchen and fetched glasses, "I am lucky, more than lucky really." He popped the bottle open as quietly as he could.   
"What?" Greg noticed John's face, it had grown tense.   
John set the bottle down, looking over at Molly holding the baby, and then Greg, "I'm so lucky! I'm three signatures away from being a father with the one and only Sherlock Holmes! This was our day, our night! I was going to..." John sighed hard, a hand quickly but unsteadily retching something from his pocket.   
Molly and Greg watched on as John presented a ring. Molly gasps a loud intake of breath, a smile broke out. Greg, however, bites his lip.   
"I was going to propose! I've been nervous all day, I planned it out. He said that he would make this!" John slid the ring back in his pocket, turning to the glasses again.   
Molly began rocking the bundle, "He told us he'd be just a few hours."   
John laughed loud at that, not turning around, "Do you know him? Three hours means the arse end of dawn. Don't hold him to his word."   
Standing, Greg went to help John disperse a glass to Molly and himself. Then, he put a hand on John's shoulder, forcing him to look him in the eye. "John, you are a smart man. You are used to Sherlock, yeah? I wouldn't expect him to change just because things get a little serious. A family with Sherlock does not mean Sherlock is a family man who can keep up with a schedule."   
John took this in, nodding, looking to the ground.   
Greg shook him, "But! And, I am just trying to make a bad situation better. But. Tonight, in the morning, whenever he comes back and falls asleep on the pillow right beside you, you could wake him up by sliding the ring on his finger." He raised his eyebrows suggestively.   
Growing a smile, John shook his head, "I can't just force the engage on him! You have to ask in a thing like this."   
But Greg laughs back, "Trust me, he won't say no to you. Not Sherlock. He's had a thing for you since you met."   
And John thought on that too. He guesses he always knew, but having heard it from somebody else... Greg was right.   
That next morning, when the sun hadn't come up just yet, John crawled to quietly straddle the sleeping detective. He grabbed his left hand ever so gently, and slipped the band on, waking Sherlock with a kiss.   
"Hmm?" He awoke groggily.   
"What's on your hand?" John suggested with tilt of his head.   
Sherlock raised his hand to his face, staring a moment, silently, before squinting and bringing it closer. John swears he could feel his heart beat faster in those seconds.   
"John!" Sherlock sits up, lodging John in his lap more comfortably, forcing the shorter man into a hug. He looked at the ring over his shoulder.   
Sherlock began hyperventilating in John's ear, crying and laughing, and showing more emotion than a Holmes should. "John! John. JohnJohnJohn..."   
"Is this a yes?" He asked, fingers trailing his spine.   
Sherlock leans back, face red, then kisses John with the tips of his lips. "Yes. Oh, yes."   
Actually getting married was harder. They never seemed to find a date. Too many cases, too much responsibility with Michael, their child. It takes something dire to make it happen.   
It was Michael, three and a half, who found Sherlock. Michael thought daddy was playing at first until he heard him mutter in pain. Sherlock lay semi-conscious by the toilet seat, having been vomiting red since an hour after John left for work.   
John rushed home after a call, and was met with Mrs. Hudson who said he was taken to the ER.   
It's little things like a dash of cancer. Those things can turn the many won battles into a losing war. John dropped to his knees beside Sherlock in his hospital bed that night. He couldn't leave him, not even with Michael back at home. It scared John that the man who could take bullets was being defeated by his own body.   
Though, treatment began and John saw his darkest days.   
Michael sat at Sherlock's feet as he sat in his chair. The treatment made Sherlock slower, made his hair start falling out, made his toes all cold and stiff. So, Michael was Sherlock's quickness, Michael took care of his own hair so Sherlock would be proud, and Michael sat beside Sherlock's feet so they wouldn't try anything else.   
Daddy was proud of Michael. John was proud of daddy AND Michael.   
Sherlock stirred in his seat, "Michael, dear, fetch your papa." His voice was abnormally rough.   
Michael got up fast, and ran to his parent's room, knocking. "Papa! Papa, daddy needs you again!"   
It makes Sherlock, who is still in the living area, mourn already for John who opens the door with a ferocity. John paces past Michael, patting his head, "Why don't you go into our room and shut the door for a few minutes while I help daddy."   
Sherlock waits for the door to close efficently, completely out of Michael's sight, to drop his act. He's in pain again. It's a wave. He begins coughing roughly, wildly, holding onto John's sleeve.   
"I don't know what to do for you love. Can you take any medicine?" John leans by his lover, rubbing at his thighs, looking up worried.   
Sherlock shakes his head, no. But his coughs quiet down, and he breathes in gulps of air. Coping with the pain, Sherlock thinks he'd take another bullet any day. Arms stretched, he pulls John up, wanting to sit him in his lap.   
"Honey, I'll hurt you." John protests, but Sherlock plants him down without say.   
"I'm already hurt, honey." He leans his head on John's shoulder as he sits there. His breathing harsh, his body beginning to shake under John. "How many have I had today?"   
John takes an icy hand into his own, counting fingers, "You've had quite a few, today." He didn't want to say it. It burned his tongue. "Nothing you can't handle, right?"   
Sherlock lifted his head from the shoulder to kiss it soundly, "Can I ask you something? I don't want anyone scared, or hurt anymore than they are, I just need something."   
Turning to fully look at Sherlock, John tensed, "Anything, what is it?"   
Another kiss to his shoulder, "I know it isn't. I understand I still have months at least left, John. Yet, I request we treat this as my last night."   
John began shaking his head rapidly, about to protest, his face reddening, but Sherlock shushed him.   
"Because I don't know when my last night will be. I don't want to pass away at the worst possible hour and have things unsaid, important information unheard. Just between Michael, you, and me." Sherlock leaned his head on John, waiting.   
And waiting. It took John a few minutes before he agreed.   
Sherlock let his episode quiet down, let his shaking calm, and he stood on unsteady feet.   
"Daddy?" Michael came out from their room.   
He told Michael the usual things. That daddy loved him, and that daddy was sick but wouldn't be sick anymore when he was gone. Daddy told Michael that he wouldn't leave because of him or papa, because he loved them both so much.   
Papa, John, listened on heartbroken. He shut himself in the bathroom, and leaned against the sink in a near panic attack.   
He didn't even hear the bathroom door open and shut, the patter of tinier feet followed by slower, bigger feet.   
He was pliant as Sherlock took him. To the tub. He sat John inside, Michael too, and sat opposite them in the dry, compact area. His and John's feet touched, and Michael sat in the middle. Everyone was a little teary-eyed.   
But nobody said anything. They just sat there. Eventually, they got close enough that Sherlock fit in John's arms and Michael in their laps. And they laid there until Michael fell asleep.   
"I'm not leaving." Sherlock whispered.   
Remission. Remission remission remission. "God bless remission!" John boasted.   
The moment Sherlock got a little better, then a little bit more better. Then, he was well... Things picked up from their precipice.   
The doctors had cleared Sherlock, and John took them out to celebrate with everyone they cared for. Mycroft included.   
It was time, Sherlock thinks, that they got married. Real married. The actual, ceremony, kind of marriage.   
So, with a new skip in their step, Sherlock and John tied the knot. Greg the best man, Michael carried the rings. The wedding was overdue, and flaunted. That is, of course, until Moriarty had to crash the party.


End file.
